Almost Calm
by Queendom of Crows
Summary: Ten years after the fall of the Republic, and Padmé Amidala's supposed death, dreams haunt the survivors of the catastrophe. A quick (potentially) two part-er about an idea I had put to words. Enjoy.


So, just some Padmé Didn't Die And Raised Her Kids thing.

Pt 1

Thick darkness gathered around her, binding her, suffocating her, to a point where she was sure she was doomed to slip away forever into the infinite tendrils of the abyss.

But then, it was gone.

And in its place a serene stillness. White. Pure, almost.

Almost.

There was something wrong. Something- or someone behind her--

She wheeled around. It was right there, it was-

"Leia?" Uncertainty laced her voice. This couldn't be right, the presence had felt...evil.

"Mom," replied the not-Leia. Again Padmé was struck with a feeling, a feeling that told her something wasn't quite ok. She briefly wondered if this was what it was like to be Force Sensitive.

But then she felt something else, turning once again, she missed the split-second that the figure of Leia seemed to flicker.

"Luke?" The former senator inquired. The feeling was mounting. And the image of her ten year old son before her was doing nothing to help.

"Hi mom." Came the nonchalant answer. But she could not shake the feeling, nor could she put her finger on it. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"Hey mom," she swiveled to face her daughter, "what're we doing here?" There it was again.

"Yeah, mom," she turned again to her son, "what is this place?" He asked, face blank.

Face blank.

She rotated to look at Leia.

Faces blank. Both of them. They were asking all the right questions, with all the wrong levels of expression. What was- what's going on? Why are her children here? She started hyperventilating, What is this place? What is she doing here? Why was that horrible feeling still growing-

Another presence.

"Padmé?"

She spun around once again. This place was making her do way too much spinning. The newcomer was- her breath, or at least what was left of it, caught in her throat.

"Anakin," she managed to choke out. A strange amount of relief poured over her. He was here. And he was alright. And he was himself. And- she stopped herself from dashing toward him. He was dead…Anakin Skywalker was dead. Or at least- she couldn't stop herself from hoping- locked away in the darkest corner of Vader's mind. Still alive, and hopefully still fighting. But, this didn't make sense. Why was he here of all places? Why we're the children here? How did they get here? How did I get here?

"Padmé, I've missed you." That voice, so full of admiration and love,

Oh it was all she could do to keep from running straight into those arms. That little smile on his face, the one kept away from the Holonet, away from the Jedi, away from his friends even. The one reserved just for her- but part of her knew, that part of her, the logical part, knew that it couldn't be real. The owner of that smile had died at the hands of the Sith Lord Vader a decade ago.

The twins moved to stand next to the father they had never- and would never know.

And that's when she realized the feeling from before had increased tenfold. Practically screaming at her to get away, but from what? From her family? From all she'd ever wanted? But that didn't-

A flicker.

All three of them.

Another flicker.

A third.

A fourth.

They started to blend together. Melting into each other. The swirling blob growing darker. The feeling of skeletal hands enclosing her. An eerie voice echoing in her head, over and over again. A sinister cackle.

The dark mass formed something solid. A figure, robed in black, gnarled hands reaching out to strangle her-

She shot up in bed. The sheets were tossed about and covered in sweat. The night air felt cold, too cold for a summer night. Her breath hitched as her dream- no, nightmare- came back to her.

And then she was crying, tears traveling down already well worn tracks. Sobs wracked her petite frame. And a strange animalistic howling noise that, with a bit of a start, she realized belonged to her. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to rid herself of the memory, her- her family, and Anakin had been there, with her. It had been him, not the corrupted form of Vader, not the black shell she had seen on the holonet. Her Anakin, with his dark blond hair and his sparkling blue eyes that seemed to forever hold a glint of mischief. And their children had been with them. But then-

But then a pair of strong arms were wrapped around her shoulders, someone murmuring words of comfort into her ear.

Funny, she hadn't heard the door open.

Obi-wan, she recalled he was staying over for a few nights, he would have sensed her distress or something.

She cried harder. She didn't care that she was a wreck. Didn't care that she was probably ruining Obi-wan's shirt. All she could think of was that horrible cackle, the foreboding chill, the feeling of wrongness that had accompanied the image of something that should have been happy. A scene that should have brought her joy. Her family. Together.

The overwhelming sorrow that threatened to snatch her up and drag her into its depths the moment she let her guard down. The way her lungs ached from dispelling more oxygen than they were taking in. The way her quickened breaths made it near impossible to form rational thought. The way her body shook at the sobs wracking her frame. The way her arms hugged herself, hands digging into her biceps, nails pressing down hard enough to leave marks that would eventually fade. But most of all, she saw his smile, she heard his laugh, she felt his embrace. Things she had tried to forget. Things she had tried to get over.

Things she knew she could never have again.

Long hours of the night passed in this way. Eventually, Padmé calmed enough to accompany Obi-wan to the kitchen where he sat her down, made her a cup of tea and did his best to soothe her. He had gotten better at that over the years. Displays of emotion, comforting, counseling. A drastic improvement from the standard 'hide it away and lock it with a key, Jedi don't show emotion' approach he had abided by ten years prior.

He did not ask her then, what her dream had been about. What had set her off like that. Usually she preferred to handle her nightmares by herself, refusing what meager support he could offer in favor of facing it alone. At first it was infuriating, all he wanted to do was help her, why couldn't she just let him? But that anger had diminished quickly, after all, wasn't he doing the same thing? Weren't they both throwing themselves at their work? Him in his resistance missions, her in her job and in raising her children? Both in their own way doing their best to forget the past, to forget what had been.

To move on.

A loud series of coughs brought him back to reality and he immediately jumped up to assist the brunette woman sitting at the small kitchen table.

She waved him away when he came near, obtaining control over her diaphragm once more, and taking a sip from the steaming cup of tea before her. Silence persisted for the rest of the hour, the two of them idly stirring tea cups and making meaningless small talk. Neither noticing that the herbal beverage had long gone cold.

"So, I hear you have a day off tomorrow." The former Jedi master began tentatively.

"Mhmm." Was all he received in response.

"Any plans?" He prompted.

"The kids will want to get out of the house." Padmé muttered while rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I figured we would all go down to the beach or something…"

"That sounds nice," he offered.

"It does. And they'll be especially excited with you around."

Obi-wan knew she meant it with no malice, but he could still detect the traces of sorrow that lined her sentence. He chose not to dwell on it.

Yawning, the one time senator stood from her seated position on the old worn wooden chair. Wood. Not the fancy kind either, no padding or intricate carvings. Just a plain, straight back, rickety wooden chair that creaked when you sat. They couldn't spare much money for chairs, unfortunately. Padmé's job as a textile factory worker in a struggling city couldn't afford those kinds of luxuries, so tomorrow's trip to the beach was quite the treat. Moving in with the Naberrie's had been an enticing option, but the former queen was unwilling to put her parents, and her children, in that kind of danger. Better to let the galaxy, and more importantly the Empire, think her dead. Having disappeared a decade ago.

Uttering a "Goodnight," she made her way through the hall up the stairs, she could clean her cup in the morning, pausing to make sure the twins hadn't been woken in the commotion (they were sound sleepers, thankfully), and to her abandoned bed. It was a twin sized bed. She preferred not to have to be reminded of her loneliness when she laid down to rest, but tonight she knew the size of her mattress wouldn't spare her from thoughts of a past life.

So much for a good night's rest.

Obi-wan stood a minute or two after Padmé retreated upstairs, taking the forgotten cups of tea and rinsing them out in the sink. Sighing, he toweled the mugs dry and placed them back in the cabinet, figuring he'd spare the woman the extra chore. Guilt seized him and he grimaced as he thought of all that his dear friend had had to endure. He had a pretty sound guess as to what her nightmare had been about.

'It can wait till the morning,' he thought.

Morning. When the troubles of the night hid in the receding shadows. The very same shadows that simultaneously acted as an heir bringer of grievous temperaments and a blanket with which to hide your tears behind. But again, it will wait.

Reaching out with The Force, he sensed the lulled presence of the sleeping twins in their bedroom, and the and the tumultuous one of their mother in her own bed. Slowly drifting into an uneasy unconsciousness.

Satisfied, the imperial outlaw stalked over to the living room couch and laid down, doing his best to ease his fretful mind into rest. Padmé's nightmares always got worse when significant dates drew near, her lifeday for one…

AN: ok, so, yeah. Apparently the textile factory owner is nice about birthdays. That's a surprise.

Anyway, what do you guys think? Too much? Too little? Enough detail? Too much monologue? Is it awkward anywhere? Did anyone take the TOTALLY PLATONIC INTENDED Obi-Padmé interaction as Obidala? I mean I guess... If u squint… maaaaybe??? I dunno, I don't like Obidala(read: Obidala is blasphemy against my Anidala OTP) so I didn't write it like that, but if you want to view it as such than that's fine. But don't expect anything more.

The idea for the dream bit popped into my mind a few months ago and I only recently returned to it. I'm planning on making a second part to this but I've made no headway on it, and we're moving again so a lot of my time is taken up by that. (((Excuses!!! I've had plenty of time and still do. I'm just total crap.)))

And that's all for now. Thank you and good day,

XOXO- QueendomofCrows


End file.
